What Other Ways?
by MindTemple
Summary: Luke has been thinking about how much he and Clive are alike. He wonders what drew him to do what he did, and how his feelings are similar to his own. How does Luke's father and Claire relate to the blurred lines between love and hate? Spoilers for 3 game


**Hello Fellow Professor Layton Fanfictioners. This is my second Layton Fanfiction, and I hope you enjoy it. **

*****SPOILERS FOR THIRD GAME*****

**I haven't played 'Diabolical Box' yet. I'm waiting for it to become available for me. I'll borrow it from a friend. **

**Thanks to all my reviewers and loyal fans on ALL my fanfictions, Professor Layton and beyond. I would name all of you, but I am afraid that I would forget someone. **

**Anyway, this story takes place after Unwound Future. **

**Have fun, and don't forget to review!**

Clive admittedly went into jail, knowing exactly what he had done wrong. To this day, I wonder if he was treated as fairly as he deserved. He pretended to be me. He pretended to be something he wasn't, yet I felt an underlying gratitude and sympathy towards him. All he wanted to do was get revenge. I hated him for a while, hoping he would rot in prison. Yet I realize now, as the Layton-mobile stumbled down the road with Flora sleeping in the back seat, that the emotions associated with Clive and his intentions were somehow mutual between he and I. What he had tried to do was merely for redemption. What he had tried to do was to cool down the furnace that bubbled in his soul, the anger and knowledge as to who killed his parents just compelled him to do anything. This feeling, I do not know. The Professor, however, did tell me a riddle that I have yet to conclude, that may solve my perplexity as to why I felt connected to him.

"Professor," the thick silence of the ride broken, "you never did tell me the answer to that puzzle. But I think I got it."

Hershel Layton's hat was not an inch askew, but instead it seemed fit to be hanging lower than usual. It seemed unusual, to see this pattern among the Professor's emotions. I had never previously seen the Professor so sad and distraught. It was because of that woman. Claire, you see. She had to return to the past, both he and I knew that. Nonetheless, it burned to know that the Professor's heart had been broken for the second time. I couldn't imagine it, seeing him younger and at this woman's funeral. I began to wonder if he went. I wondered if I could draw myself to see my one love dead. The once warmest person in his life, now frigid. The thought distracted me for a moment. The Professor's voice snapped me back into reality.

"What puzzle, my boy?" Layton's voice had a fake fuzziness to it. I knew that he was just covering his feelings up, thinking that I was a little boy. A little boy whose innocence needed to be protected, whose emotions needed to be positive all the time.

"The one..." I swallowed, not knowing why a lump was forming in my throat, "where it goes..."

I thought for a short moment, trying to remember the exact wording.

"What cannot be seen or heard, but at the same time be sensed? What causes people to do almost anything with not regrets, yet has no definite shape or size? What is the reason for all the wars, all the fighting and anger in the world, the underlying reason that people are dying?" I clenched my fist at the last word, wondering if it would sting the Professor.

The Professor smiled. It was a somber one, yet his eyes sparkled for a moment, taken away from the road for a moment and on to me. "The thing about that puzzle, Luke, is that there are two answers. The first is most common. The next takes more thought to figure."

"So which is right?" I made eye contact with the man.

Layton focused his eyes on the road again and turned the wheel onto a modern London road. I wondered what the roads truly looked like in the future. Did they look as elaborate as they did in Clive's future?

"Both are. It depends on the ears of the beholder." Hershel sighed, the feeling of guiding the boy to the answer very familiar to him. "So, what do you think the answer is?"

I did not like having multiple answers. What if the Professor's ears heard the answer different than mine? Would it be wrong?

Professor raised his eyebrow, waiting.

"Hate." I said plainly and simply.

The Professor nodded, not blinking or smiling like he usually did when a puzzle was solved.

"That's why Clive did what he did. He hated."

Hershel looked at me briefly again. "That's the most common answer."

I felt my eyes get wide. "Really?" I had put so much thought into my answer.

"Yes."

"Then what's the other?" I felt like I betrayed something inside me.

"What good puzzle-lover would ever give away an answer without giving the receiver another chance to think about it?" He smiled, and this time, it felt real. His chin seemed to lift a bit.

I sighed, knowing I wouldn't get an answer from him. I would need to figure it out for myself. I felt like just sleeping, but I needed to figure this puzzle out. I guess the Professor's tendencies were rubbing of on me.

What else could this mean?

The idea snapped into my brain. I figured the opposites may conclude the answer, the unexpected would pose a much better chance of being the real answer.

"Love."

The Professor smiled wider that that. "Love is what caused Clive to do what he did, Luke. He did not do this out of anger. He loved his parents enough to confuse the feeling with hate towards politics. Love causes anyone to do anything. Sometimes, the lack of love also does the same thing. Love cannot be sensed. Love cannot be seen. Love has no shape or form, yet you just know it's there. War and fighting back in time was caused by the need for a wife, how someone may want a woman. It's crazy, really."

I was stunned by this. How can something so wonderful be turned cruel?

"Clive wanted to get revenge, yes, but why? Because he loved his mother and his father."

I felt like crying at that point. I guess even the most gentlemanly person has emotions, as the Professor had proven when Claire had to leave.

"I guess Clive and I are more similar than I thought," I looked out the window as I said this. We both loved too much for our own good. I have to leave soon for my real parents, yet I still can't think of tearing myself away from the Professor. I guess, in a father-son sort of way, I loved the Professor. Would I ever love someone enough to hurt other people?

The professor stomped on the brakes.

I, surprised and scared, quickly snapped my head to meet the eyes of the Professor. Flora whined from the back seat, yet returned the slumber she once was immersed in.

He reached both his hands out and gripped my shoulders. He was gentle yet firm and his eyes were kind. His eyebrows were pinched together, his lips slightly agate.

"You are not a criminal," he said, "you may love, Luke, but you do not twist love into something it is not. Don't compare yourself to someone who does."

I nodded, my own expression starting to match his. Now I really felt like crying. Yet I couldn't identify why.

He took his hands off of me. "I'm sorry. I get... sensitive about certain things."

"You didn't do anything to apologize for."

He started the car again. The emotions were thick in the car. I decided that if there wasn't a better time to ask a question that burned inside me, then why not ask?

"Have you ever loved anyone other than Claire?"I couldn't make eye contact with the man beside me.

Layton then returned to his somber expression. "Not the way I loved her."

I hadn't expected this answer.

I also hadn't expected a tear to fall down the Professor's face.

My own lip quivered at that point.

"What other ways," my voice cracked, "are there to love?"

The Professor stayed silent for a while. No more tears appeared from either of them.

"Like the way your father loves you, Luke," he finally said to me.

I couldn't help but feel that my father could not love me the way the Professor set it out. He had not seen me for three months, after all. He probably hadn't even thought of me.

The Professor's small flat, the white brick and trees behind it, were now close. The front porch was small and only enough space to walk up to the door and enter it. The man lived alone, so I figured that he didn't need a lot of space.

He lived alone.

Except when I came along. I stayed in the spare bedroom with Flora. It was not a large room, but enough for us to be happy. To this day, I wonder why he had a bed lying around. He had to buy another for Flora, but mine was always there.

He pulled into the driveway.

"Luke," Layton turned towards the boy who was already turned towards the door, "you father loves you. You know that, right?"

I opened the door and grabbed my knapsack, throwing it over my shoulder.

The Professor ended up carrying Flora into their room. They were all tired and the emotions hd rubbed the two males raw.

Tucking Flora into bed, Layton pulled the covers over the girl. She was in her every day dress, because she had not woken up to change into her pajamas.

I erupted from the washroom, washed and changed for bed. My teeth were brushed and his hair combed. I climbed into his bed, that would soon be empty when I left for my family across the English Channel.

Soon, Professor came over to my bed. Sometimes he would read me stories, sometimes not. Other times, we wold merely chat.

Tonight, he ran his hand over my forehead and across my hair. "Luke, you never responded to my comment."

I looked up at his tired eyes. "What comment?"

"My boy, you must know that your father genuinely loves you. I feel that you don't know that," Professor blinked slowly.

"I know he does," I somewhat lied. I always figured that he must love me, for I was his son.

"Otherwise, he wouldn't have sent you here."

I looked up at him more meaningfully now.

"Remember how love can be seen many different ways? One may interpret it a negative way, but it was in all intentions of good." Layton clenched his fist weakly. "He sent you here because he wanted you to get a complete education. He misses you terribly, Luke."

I smiled. Had my father really missed me?

The Professor turned to leave with a 'goodnight' to me.

"Wait, Professor," I called to him quietly. He came back to me. "Why did you have this bed in the first place?"

The Professor smiled. I guess he knew that this question had been burning inside me. "When Claire and I were together, we had talked many times of our future. The day that she passed was the day that I wanted to ask her to marry me. Our anniversary. But, when we went out to lunch that afternoon, I couldn't muster up the courage to get down on my knee. That bed, Luke, as odd as it may seem, was intended for my child."

I suddenly felt guilty. I was in a place where I hadn't belonged. "I'm sorry, Professor. About Claire and everything."

Layton smiled and ran his hand over my hair again. "It's alright, Luke. What has happened, has happened. Now, we know that for sure. No time machine or anything can change that. The past is the past. Love is love and hate is hate. The lines may be blurred sometimes, but it takes a strong mind and heart to clear up those borders."

I smiled at that. Even a man whose heart had been broken into millions of pieces could prove that no matter how much you think there is no love, there always is. Love is always around you, even if it is seen as hate.

"Goodnight, Luke." Hershel Layton rose again, seeing that his duty was done.

"Goodnight, Professor." I responded and laid my head down to rest.

The door closed, the last line of light that came from the hallway now nonexistent in the children's room.

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